Fellowship of the Misfits
by stick-at-nought shady
Summary: In which Frodo cries, the horses of Middle-earth get revenge, Aragorn guzzles miruvor, Boromir blows the Horn of Gondor, Glorfindel is hyper, Sam hides in rosebushes, Elrond is threatened with death, and the Nazgul are rather deaf. And to top it off, Frodo Baggins is carrying the One Ring! Valardammit! A parody of FotR.
1. An Unexpected Rosebush

**With many sighs, shouts, and evil laughs, I introduce myself to the LotR fandom ... to parody the shit out of the FotR!**

**Thank you to Catching Fireflies for Beta-ing this chapter! **

**It's a book/movie parody, because I have a bit of a bad memory with some of the things in the book, so occasionally I'll just use the movie stuff. With that in mind, read away! **

* * *

Frodo Baggins was in a splendid mood. He hummed to himself and smiled and whistled merrily. He ran out of the Bagginses' hobbit-hole. Frodo was in such a delightful mood that he ran around in a wide, loopy circle, shouting, "I'm going to be of age! I'm going to be of age! I'm! Going! To be! Of _age_!"

In case you have not gathered... Frodo was going to be of age, and he was rather excited about it.

Suddenly, a face poked out of the round door. "Frodo Marie Baggins!" yelled Frodo's elderly uncle, Bilbo. "You get inside this instant!" Frodo's happy features sagged into a frown that was very disgusting-looking on his face.

"Aw, Bilbo," Frodo said, close to tears. "Why'd you have to say my middle name? Now Sam will know it! And he'll never stop teasing me!" As if to prove his point, one of the rosebushes started cackling evilly in a voice that sounded oddly like Samwise Gamgee's. Frodo burst into hysterical tears and ran inside, pushing over Bilbo as he went.

"Marie?" asked Sam, giggling, who was hiding in the rosebush.

"Aye! Like you can say better for yourself, Samwise Lucette Gamgee!" growled Bilbo. He slammed the door. The rosebush burst into hysterical sobbing that rivaled even Frodo's.

* * *

There was the sound of a man carrying a burden as Gandalf and his horse trotted to the Baggins house. The wizard was crawling on all fours, his horse seated on top of him. For you see, Gandalf's horse was no ordinary horse! Not by a long shot. His horse could talk... but he was the only one that could hear it, which made everyone think Gandalf was simply going senile.

"How do you like it?" the horse challenged Gandalf. "Having someone sit on you all day long!" The horse, midway through Gandalf's journey to the Shire, had decided that he wanted revenge for his hours of trotting. Gandalf, being a rather kindhearted person, had decided to carry the horse, instead of the horse carrying him.

"It is a rather awful thing," said Gandalf, huffing and puffing as he crawled to the Bilbo's door. The hobbits he saw were giving him odd looks. They were whispering among themselves, and Gandalf could not imagine why. "Bless my soul!" said Gandalf the Grey. "I'm here! You can get off me, now, faithful steed."

"That I shall," said the horse snappily, and got off Gandalf's back. The poor wizard let out a groan that sounded like a dying Ringwraith.

"Alas! My limbs creak like that of a skeleton that has strings attached to its bones!" he howled into the clear, pleasant day. Every hobbit in earshot raised their eyebrows, shrugged, and continued on with whatever they were doing. No one really knew what Gandalf was saying anymore. He had gone slightly crazy with old age, according to them.

Gandalf knelt by Bilbo's door. For old time's sake, he began to write, 'fuck my hobbit ass' on Bilbo's door (in the tongue of the High Elves, so Bilbo couldn't read it!) with his staff. When he was finished, he stood up, proud of his work, and knocked on the door.

"Samwise Lucette, if that is you, I shall kick you and the rosebush to-" Bilbo threatened as he opened the door. "Gandalf!" he said in surprise. "My goodness, my old friend!"

"Old being the operative word," Gandalf said. "See this hair?" He pointed at his long gray hair and beard. "It used to be as black as a raven, before you and those infernal dwarves needed your asses saved 24/7."

"No, it was not!" Bilbo said, but he realized Gandalf was joking. "My dear friend, you have the humor of an elf!" he said, throwing himself into Gandalf's arms. He realized Bilbo's words were not a compliment. The humor of an elf? Elves had terrible senses of humor!

"As ever, you have the charm of a constipated orc, my dear Bilbo," said Gandalf, happily returning Bilbo's insult. Bilbo, fortunately, was used to this, and did not take offense.

"I have come to set up the tables," Gandalf said, sighing. For that was the sole reason he had come to the Shire- because he had to set up the party for Bilbo and Frodo's birthday.

"And the tents! And the mugs overflowing with good ale!" Bilbo reminded him. Gandalf let out another sigh and walked off to set up for the party.

* * *

The party was a lovely thing- every hobbit that attended had lovely presents and the best food sitting in front of him or her. There had been much dancing and drinking and overall partying.

A red-faced, drunken Samwise Gamgee sat next to Frodo Baggins. "Mister Frodo," he said. "I have a proposition to make." Frodo paused in stuffing his face with creamed corn. Sam tried not to wince at the sight of the half-chewed food in his master's mouth.

"Wha' ya sayin'?" Frodo said, trying to swallow.

"I want to go into Rosie's hole. Is that okay with you, Mister Frodo?" Sam asked, shame in his very bones. Frodo spewed creamed corn across the table and into Lobelia Sackville-Baggins's face. She gave him a rather offended look and promised to steal all of Bilbo's spoons.

"Go- what the hell, Sam? Rosie's _hole_? Is that _okay_?" Sam nodded, wondering why Frodo looked so upset, and Frodo's eyes bulged in astonishment. "Sam, I never knew you could be so dirty!"

"Oh, Mister Frodo, don't even suggest it!" Sam said. "I meant her home! Her hobbit-hole! To borrow her mother's gardening shears!" Frodo's mouth was wide open, ready to say something else, but Sam's words sunk in.

"Oh," Frodo said. "Uh, yeah, Sam. Sure you can go." As soon as Sam left, he cracked up laughing and muttered something about Sam wanting to screw Rosie.

"Attention!" called Bilbo's voice. Frodo looked up to find Bilbo standing on a table. "I have a very serious announcement to make, friends! And non-friends, that I just invited so I could have the right number of guests." There was quite a bit of grumbling about that. Each person felt as if they were merely there to fill a quota.

"Anyways! I'm leaving the Shire! Goodbye, cruel world!" Bilbo said. "But a few words before my departure..." All the hobbits waited for Bilbo to say his words and get on with it so they could drink to his riddance, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he pulled out something resembling a ring from his pocket and yelled, "My precious!" He put the ring on his finger and promptly disappeared.

"Bilbo!" said Frodo. "Bilbo, come back! I forgot to tell you that I started shaving today!" But Bilbo did not return. Frodo felt tears forming in his eyes, and so he ran off, wailing all the way.

* * *

"I most certainly will not give up my precious/ It is so very beautiful and speshiss. It shines and shines and it's pretty and round/ The most lovely thing to ever be found!" Bilbo's eyes were misting over at his lovely song (even though he had made up the word 'speshiss', solely for the purpose of rhyming with 'precious'). Gandalf, however, was not so moved.

"You must give up the Ring, Bilbo! It is influencing your thoughts!" Gandalf said. He wildly waved his arms around in a windmill-like gesture, knocking a portrait off the wall.

"Not happening, Gandalf the Rainbow!" Bilbo said, suddenly getting rather immature and sticking his tongue out at the wizard.

Gandalf, not one to be made fun of, grew in alarming height and loomed over Bilbo. Suddenly, he turned pitch-black! Poor Bilbo let out a yelp of surprise and dropped his ring.

"Fine! Take it! I didn't mean to call you a rainbow!" Bilbo said. Gandalf shrunk down to his normal height and patted Bilbo on the head.

"Good boy, Bilbo. Good boy. I'll tell Elrond to give you lots of treats when you get to Rivendell," he said. Bilbo glared. Gandalf _must_ be going crazy! Bilbo muttered something about not being a dog, and stomped out of the door.

"Well, that takes care of him!" said Gandalf.

* * *

Many years later, Frodo owned the Baggins house. He was fifty years old, but oddly still looked as if he had just come of age. For he was the bearer of the Ring, and... bearers of the Ring always look young, all right?

All of a sudden, Gandalf appeared. "Gandalf!" Frodo cried. "Oh, how I've missed you, Gandalf! My life has been so dull and-"

"That's all well and good, but where's the damn ring?" Gandalf said.

"Don't take it!" Frodo yelped. "It's my precious!"

Gandalf let out a weary sigh. "Not you, too!" he said, and sat down on Bilbo's vacant armchair. Frodo started rummaging around the hobbit-hole, screaming, "I'm sure it's around here somewhere!" Finally, Frodo came to a halt.

"Oh," Frodo said. "It's around my neck, on a chain, Gandalf." The wizard let out one of his famous sighs.

"Well, it's high time I tell you what the damn thing is," Gandalf said. "It's Sauron's One Ring of Power. The men have nine that are controlled by it, the elves have three, and the dwarves have seven. I may have messed up my calculations, you see, I've just graduated basic math class. That's where I've been for seventeen years." Frodo rolled his eyes.

"So, if this Ring can control the others, can I just, like, control everyone?" asked Frodo, an evil glint in his eyes.

"No! You must destroy it!" Gandalf said. "Go to Bree. I like Bree, and it's a fun word to say. Plus, I'm going to send my friend Aragorn stalking after you. He likes Bree, too."

"But- but_ I_ don't like Bree," Frodo said, trembling in fright. "Or stalkers, for that matter..." But Gandalf was already shoving a traveling cloak on him, and handing him a bag full of clothes and food that he had conjured out of thin air.

There was a loud cackling sound coming from outside. It seemed to be coming from the rosebush by Bilbo's door. Gandalf froze mid-motion. "Did you hear that?" he asked. "It was a rosebush, laughing!"

"Nah," Frodo said. "You're going crazy, Gandalf. Rosebushes don't laugh." Then he remembered the day of Bilbo's party. "Unless they have Sam Gamgee hiding in them!" Gandalf proceeded to lean out the window and pull Sam into the room.

"Heh...heh...heh," Sam chuckled weakly.

"That's it, Sam! You are now Frodo's pack mule! Now get your asses to Bree! Don't mind the random ranger stalking you!" Gandalf said.

* * *

**To be continued, as Sam and Frodo set off to Bree, possibly being stalked by a ranger...**


	2. Of Hangovers and Maple Trees

**Thanks to everyone who read, favorited, followed, and reviewed! I have another LotR fic up, and I'd like it if you R+R'ed that one too. :)**

**Thanks to Catching Fireflies for Beta-ing this chapter, and telling me that my Tom Bombadil thing was actually a bit canon.**

**Yes, the events are a bit messed up. But, Tom Bombadil actually does say "Run naked on the grass, while old Tom goes a-hunting!" in FotR. -_-**

* * *

There was a steady, strident wailing sound coming from Frodo as he and Sam walked away from the Shire.

"Will you shut up already?" asked Sam. "Mister Frodo! Everyone from here to Mordor will hear us if you keep that up!" Frodo promptly closed his mouth. "Thank goodness!" Sam cried, relieved.

Frodo smacked him for being such a bad servant.

Sam smacked him back.

Frodo burst into loud tears that were even louder than his wailing.

Sam muttered something about 'gagging Mister Frodo with his own cloak'.

Frodo shut up.

Suddenly, a farmhouse loomed up in front of them! It was big and dilapidated and rather unsettling to look upon. But that was not the thing that made the hobbits tremble in fear. No, no, no! It was the horse and its rider outside the farmhouse door.

The Rider was dressed in all black, with a hood that fell so much over its entire face. It had black gauntlets on its hands. A hiss came out from under its hood. Thankfully, it was not facing the two hobbits. It was facing old Farmer Maggot's door. Nevertheless, Frodo and Sam ducked into a handy rosebush.

"Sam, don't you dare laugh!" Frodo said sternly.

Farmer Maggot answered his door. "Would you care to come in for a spot of t-"

"Boggins... Shyer..." said the Black Rider. Alas, it was Nazgul the Third! The worst of them all. And by worst, I mean 'worst at hearing'. When it had been told by Sauron that he needed to find a Baggins in the Shire, it had misheard him. Now the confused Ringwraith was on the hunt for a shy hobbit named Boggins.

"Uh... no Bogginses here," said the clueless Farmer Maggot. "My goodness, though! Your voice is quite raspy! You poor traveller, come inside for some tea-" Just then, the Black Rider took a sword from its belt and one swipe later, Farmer Maggot's head was parted from his body. The Nazgul rode off, hissing and screeching like a breeding platypus.

But something unexpected happened, before Frodo and Sam could run- two hobbits burst out of Farmer Maggot's door! They looked down at his body and shrugged.

"Ah well," said one of them. His name was Peregrin Took, and he carried an armful of vegetables. "I was always telling him not to go losing his head." The two Shire-lings burst into laughter. Meriadoc Brandybuck and Peregrin Took started playing soccer with Farmer Maggot's head.

Frodo and Sam looked on, horror in their eyes. "Stop! Stop stop stop!" Sam screamed, taking a leap out of the rosebush. "You can't just do that!" Pippin and Merry froze. Farmer Maggot's head rolled around on the ground in a rather gory way.

"And why not?" Merry said. "We can raid his farm now! I'm sure he's got a lot of nice liquor in his cellar!" Pippin nodded in agreement.

"In that case, carry on!" Frodo said gleefully, jumping out of the rosebush.

The four hobbits gathered up lots of lovely wine and liquor, and some food. They started to have a picnic, right next to Farmer Maggot's severed head.

"So, what're you doing, far from home?" asked Merry, glugging back a ton of liquor.

"Me and Sam are headed to Bree," Frodo said, chomping into a loaf of bread and proceeding to stuff his face.

"Where are you headed? Free? Glee? Dee?" Pippin asked. He couldn't really hear Frodo very well- his mouth was full when he was talking.

_"We're going to Bree!"_ Frodo bellowed after spitting out a lump of unswallowed bread. In Mordor, Sauron shook his head. _I must be going crazy! _he thought. _I thought I heard someone shout that they were going to Bree!_

"Shush!" said a rather deformed-looking maple tree. "I bet Sauron can hear you!" The four hobbits froze.

"Did that tree just talk?" asked Sam. He squinted at the odd-looking tree. He thought it was shaped kind of like a man. In fact, it looked kind of like a man with a tree-costume on!

"Trees don't talk!" Pippin said. "That's nonsense, Samwise Gamgee!"

"My old Gaffer-" sniffed the gardener, wounded.

"No one cares!" all the hobbits yelled.

"Did you not hear me the first time?" asked the tree. "Now, as payment, give me all your liquor!" A light-skinned hand poked out from the tree and waved around, as if anticipating a bottle of liquor to drop into it.

"It has hands and a man's voice," said Merry, his voice shaking.

"Give me the damn liquor!" said the tree. "A man- I mean, maple tree, is pretty thirsty, you know!"

Sam realized he needed to say something about this whole matter. "That's not a tree! It's a costume!" The tree, realizing it had been caught, ran off with a rather funny walk.

"But I have to stalk you!" the tree wailed. "How did you see through my camouflage!"

The hobbits all raised their eyebrows. "That was odd," said Frodo. "Hey Merry, Pip, wanna come with us?"

"Sure!" said the two. Obviously, they didn't know what they were in for...

* * *

"Hi! My name's Tom Bombadil! My boots are red, my hat is green, my pants are purple, my shirt is yellow, and my boxers are blue!" said a random man, appearing randomly in the forest, as random men often do. The hobbits screamed like prepubescent girls and tried to run, but the trees grabbed them. "Say, would you like to come to my house?"

"No!" screamed the hobbits, writhing on the ground, trying to get away from the trees.

"Come on, then!" And Tom Bombadil grabbed them all and walked them to his house. Frodo was crying again.

A very pretty woman stepped out of the house. "Oh, Tommy," she said. "Bringing me some playthings? Why, you shouldn't have." She grinned, resembling a giant spider clacking its pincers.

"No!" screamed the hobbits.

"I don't think they speak our language, dear Goldberry," said Tom Bombadil, locking the door. "I haven't any idea what this strange word 'no' means."

The four hobbits were tied to chairs, and platters of roast were set in front of them. "Eat," Tom Bombadil said. "Eat the sweet cleat-feet meat." He felt very good about himself, having rhymed so well. Frodo screamed.

"This meat is the feet of someone that has worn cleats?" he asked, terrified.

"Of course not," Tom Bombadil said. Relieved, the hobbits began to eat the food. "I was merely rhyming. Now eat! And go run naked all 'round the forest. I think it's sexy when they do that." The hobbits thrashed around on the chairs, terrified, trying to break them. Tom and Goldberry were making out very graphically.

After only a few minutes of explicit content, Sam could not take it for another instant. "I will not, not, not!" he howled, "hear you say, 'Goldberry is waiting' one more time. Or 'Tommy, I want you'. Or anything of that sort. No siree! Let us go!"

"First, you must run naked in the forest!" Tom Bombadil said. "Oh, Goldberry, touch me right there again... I mean, before you leave, run naked in the forest. Only then will we let you go."

"Fine!" said Sam, shuddering at the two very... energetic, shall we say... lovers.

"No!" yelled the rest of the hobbits, even though they were cut free by Tom Bombadil's free arm, which was holding a knife.

"It's that word again!" Tom said. "I don't get it. Why must they say it though they know we do not know it?"

Shrieks, "Don't stare, Mister Frodo!"-s, screams, and wails were heard all across Middle-earth as the four hobbits ran about the forest, streaking. When they regained their clothes from Tom Bombadil, they still had no idea why Tom liked hobbits running around naked so much.

But then Merry realized something. "Guys," he said, shivering in realization. "I think there's something the matter. I'm wearing red boots, a green hat, blue boxers, purple pants, and a yellow shirt... just like Tom Bombadil!"

"He switched our clothes!" Frodo yelled. "I hate shoes!"

"I, meanwhile," Pippin said firmly, "hate Tom Bombadil!" Kicking off their red boots, the hobbits ran off.

* * *

After a few minor incidents (including but not limited to the maple tree confronting them again, trying to get liquor, the Nazgul trying to kill them, and a strange floaty creepy thing in the Barrow-downs), the hobbits were nearly at Bree.

Ahead of them, a certain Ranger shed his maple tree costume and walked into the Prancing Pony._ I want liquor!_ was the only thought in his mind. _Wait, but Gandalf told me to look out for a few hobbits! Never mind! I want liquor! _

The four hobbits came to the gate, sopping wet and shivering in their multicolored garments. "What may I do for you?" asked the person at the gate. "State your names and businesses, I mean," he said, reading from the card he was holding. "Damn, this job is worse than working shoveling horse excrement."

"My name is Froda Biggins," said Frodo, who had decided to disguise the group as girls. If that didn't work, their plan B was their fake names. "My shirt is yellow, my boots are red, my hat is green, my pants are purple, and my bra and panties are blue." He attempted a seductive look. Merry smacked him.

"And I'm Maria Brundyback," Merry lied. "This is Samantha Gomgee, and this is Pipsy Tuck. We want to go the Prancing Pony. To, uh, go get some. If you know what I mean." Frodo attempted another seductive look. Merry smacked him again.

"No one's stopping you," snarled the gatekeeper. "I mean, enter here." He grumbled something about hating his job, and let them in. The four hobbit 'girls' ran through the streets of Bree, heading for the Prancing Pony. They heard a lovely drinking song from indoors and decided to go inside.

"Mr. Butterbur!" cried Frodo to the barman. Don't ask how he knew the guy's name. "Can we rent out a hobbit-hole?" A rather drunken man turned around. His name was Barliman Butterbur.

"Oh, hello there," he said. "Sure we can get you a hobbit-hole. It might take a while to dig, though, so you might want to eat and drink. Ah, yes, and that guy over in the corner is spectacularly wasted, and seems really horny. He's kind of staring at you, so you might want to hide somewhere."

In the corner sat Strider, the liquor-craving fake maple tree. He had an enormous tankard in front of him. He was staring directly at Frodo. Of course, his face was hidden by a weird, funky hood. His eyes glittered with malice and he tried his best to look evil.

He leaned back in his chair._ Good! Casually evil!_ he thought. _Gandalf told me not to immediately befriend them. He seems to not like me greeting everyone with a hug. I guess 'not friendly' can mean evil! He must want me to look evil! Drunken evil and casual evil together will be best! _Then Strider fell out of the chair because he was really drunk. He ruined his evil facade by screaming, "My ass hurts!" when he hit the hard stone floor. _Valardammit, now I'm going to have a bruise!_

"What's his name?" Frodo asked.

"Haven't the foggiest. We call him Strider," said Barliman Butterbur.

"Why?" asked Merry. Barliman chuckled.

"Oh, you'll find out when you see him walk," he said. "Stay clear of him! He's a ruffian."

"I will," said Frodo. The hobbits shuddered at the sight of Strider swearing vengeance on all chairs.

Eight gallons of liquor later (hobbits, as you know, can really drink a lot!) Frodo was not thinking the same thing. Neither was Strider, though he had not had quite that much to drink. He was rather tired of acting evil, though.

"How goes it, young midget?" he called to Frodo from across the room.

"Pretty damn well!" a very drunken Frodo yelled back.

"Come over here!" Strider said, waving around his hand. His hand was holding a mug, and he sloshed liquor all over the table he sat at. "Valardammit..." he muttered.

"What didja say?" Frodo hollered, deaf to everything. He waved around his cup, copying Strider, and accidentally put on the Ring. He swore under his breath and took it off.

"Get your ass over here before I get it myself!" Strider screamed at him, ignoring the fact that Frodo had gone temporarily invisible. Frodo howled in misery, thinking this a rape threat. "I don't mean any harm! I just want to have a drinking contest!" Those were like the magic words to Frodo's ears.

"I bet I can out-drink you!" he said as he sat down next to Strider.

"No one out-drinks a Numenorean!" Strider exclaimed, whipping the hood off his head. A shower of lice sprayed forth from his hair.

"You're on!" Frodo yelled. He ordered eighteen jugs of wine for the two of them. And eighteen more when Merry, Sam, and Pippin decided to join them. And Strider bought a couple more for Frodo, because that was Frodo's prize for winning the drinking contest...

Hours later, a spectacularly hungover Frodo, a barely-conscious Sam, a vomiting Pippin, a groaning Merry, and an extremely disgruntled Strider woke up.

Since he had no memory of the previous night, Strider felt his aching backside... and jumped to conclusions. Who wouldn't? The hobbits were all naked (due to their stripping/drinking game the night before, but Strider didn't remember that), and Strider felt like he had just gotten... well...

"Oh holy Valar have pity on me," he moaned, holding his throbbing head in his hands. "Now, I bet those were the hobbits that Gandalf wanted me to find, too! Just my rotten luck."

* * *

**To be continued in the next chapter, as the slightly deaf Nazgul do some badass pillow stabbing in Bree and Strider the possible alcoholic leads the four hungover hobbits to Weathertop! **


	3. A WHAT? in the WHAT?

**Thank you for read, reviewing, favoriting, and following! And may it continue!**

**Some of the lines from (as I called it) The Lay of Luthien Tinuviel are from the book. Others are *ahem*_changed, _if you will.  
**

* * *

Barliman Butterbur was having a rotten night. He had been outside in the Valardammed rain for hours, digging a hole in the ground for the hobbits. He knew hobbits lived underground, but the hobbits that had stayed at his inn before were perfectly alright with sleeping in regular rooms! He muttered something about stupid, stuck-up halflings as he walked to the bar to see if the hobbits were there. He was going to tell them that their hobbit-hole was all dug.

"Kind sir," he said to one of the random drunk Bree-landers sitting on a barstool, "have you seen four chubby, small creatures that look like mutated dwarves with beards on their feet?"

"Indeed I have," said the random drunkard. "They went to Strider's room to play a stripping/drinking game."

Fear made Barliman's blood turn to ice, and he shuddered like maggots were breeding in his spine. "S-_Strider_?" His voice shook. "But- I warned them and all! Oh, what will Gandalf say when he learns I let Strider get to those poor hobbits..." All of his earlier frustration at the four had turned into pity. "Oh dear, oh dear! Dear, dear, dear!"

He raced down the halls to Strider's room. He didn't know where Strider's room was, but he could smell the disgusting stench of vomited-up liquor and knew where the room was. He threw open the door and let out a girlish scream of agony, screwing his eyes shut, wanting to un-see the scene.

Sam was passed out cold on the floor. Merry and Pippin were jockeying for the best position for throwing up in the chamber pot. Frodo was nowhere to be found. Strider was curled up into the fetal position, rocking back and forth, whimpering and moaning, "Please let me not have been ass-fucked..."

"Strider! You rogue! You rascal!" Barliman Butterbur ululated, jumping in through the threshold. Everything was silent for a second. "Getting those fine young halflings drunk!"

"Oh, it wasn't him, Mister Butterbur, if you don't mind me saying!" Sam said, miraculously returning to consciousness. "We were having a drinking game, but dear old Mister Frodo beat us all, even Mister Strider, if he doesn't mind me-"

"Did that... _Ranger _molest you? Did you strip you of your-"

"Well, no, Barliman good chap," said Merry, pausing in his excessive vomiting. "We stripped ourselves. We were having a stripping/drinking contest. The loser had to strip completely, and the fourth place had to take off his shirt, and third place-" he leaned over and vomited onto Pippin's head. "-that's why Strider's in nought but his-"

"Stop talking about me!" Strider snarled from the floor, getting up and trying to act dignified while wearing a vomit-splattered tunic with nothing underneath. "I am Aragorn son of Arathorn, lost King and rightful Ruler of Gondor!"

"Really?" said Barliman Butterbur, suddenly forgiving the man. He knelt down at Strider's dirty, stinking feet and made the dire mistake of looking up. "Put- put on some pants!" was all he managed to say before running off.

Aragorn let out a sigh of relief when the innkeeper left. "So... you all didn't... ah... put your... ah... things... in my... thing?" Strider said, unsure of how to say this in a dignified way (and a way that wouldn't offend the hobbits).

Unfortunately, it did. "No, Mister Strider!" Sam said defensively. "We didn't put our travel-bags in your closet!" Aragorn nearly groaned. The innocence of the hobbits infuriated him, but he supposed if they were that innocent, then they must not have assaulted him...

Aragorn opened the window. "Isn't it a beautiful day?The sky is blue, the sun is shining! Holy Valar, it's a Nazgul!" the Ranger hollered. He slammed the window shut. "Where did Frodo go?"

Just then, Frodo took the Ring off his finger. Strider let out an exasperated shout and waved his arms about like a windmill (he had learned how to do so from Gandalf the Grey himself). "Didn't I tell you never to put it on?"

"No," said Frodo. "Why shouldn't it? It's shiny and pretty and it's my friend."

"Just splendid! Now the Nazgul are after us!" Aragorn said. He glared. Strider's glare was so terrible that it made Frodo start crying. Then again, it doesn't take much for Frodo to cry, so maybe his glare wasn't so bad after all.

"What's a Nazz-gull?" asked Pippin, trying to wipe the vomit out of his hair.

"It's a creepy fallen man on black horse. They are blind and a bit deaf (especially the third of their kind, but that's besides the point) but they are quite deadly. They have Morgul-blades. And before you can ask about those, too, they are the blades that the Nazgul wield." Aragorn said all of this as he tugged on some pants under his tunic. "They are coming. Fortunately, they don't know you're not in your room. We shall wait them out in here."

"Well, that's all well and good," said Pippin. "But we don't have any hangover remedy in here!"

* * *

Nazgul the Third and the rest of his company (the Fellowship of the Valardamn Creepy Riders) were going underground.

_Me and my ring do not like it underground... _Nazgul the Third thought nervously, rubbing the ring on his bony, gauntlet-covered finger. _And me and my ring think that we look ridiculous in the daylight. We should've waited until nighttime to kill the shy Bogginses. _

He let out a screech that sounded like a hippopotamus having sexual intercourse. In the unknown language of the Nazgul, it meant, "Let's get this over with".

The Witch-King of Angmar screamed like a bullfrog being trampled. It meant "Fine, you little shit".

So all the Fellowship of the Valardamn Creepy Riders went inside the newly dug hobbit-hole. It was little more than a hole in the ground. A worm fell on Nazgul the Third's head and he squawked like a chicken having its head cut off.

"Shut up!" said the Witch-King, which sounded like the death cry of a strangled rabbit. Various other animal sounds were made as the rest of the Riders agreed to shut up and dramatically stab the shy Bogginses.

They drew their Morgul-blades and raised them. And, as they were blind, they accidentally hit each other. As they can not kill each other, they were not injured in the slightest. They were disappointed, though, so they found comfy pillows and laid down to sleep sulkily. The Witch-King grew angry, due to there not being enough pillows for him. He stabbed all of the pillows right out from under his fellow Nazguls' heads.

Screeches echoed out of the hobbit-hole and through Bree.

* * *

"We need to buy a pony," said Aragorn. As he walked on sure feet to the stables, the hobbits noticed something.

"Mister Strider?" asked Sam tentatively. "Not meaning to offend, but why do you walk as you do?" The man was walking with astonishingly long strides, as if he was trying to do the splits or be in a conga line while walking at the same time.

"Because I like when people call me Strider," said Aragorn. "It makes me feel evil." He attempted his best evil look. It was pretty good, but since he looked like he was in a conga line, it was therefore ruined.

"Okay, then..." said Sam. "I guess everyone has their oddity."

Strider's face turned white with anger. "Oddity?" he cried. "Oddity?" He drew a knife. "If my sword wasn't broken, I'd skewer you with it! And roast you over a fire like a shish kebab!"

"I didn't mean it!" whimpered Sam, trying to use a random pony as a shield.

At the sight of Strider threatening to kill Samwise, Frodo burst into tears again.

* * *

"Are we there yet?" asked Pippin.

"No," said the Ranger shortly. "And if I hear you say that again I shall make you walk all the way to Gondor!" The hobbit shuddered, thinking his feet would probably fall off if he did that.

"I already have to walk you all the way to Rivendell," griped an unfamiliar voice. Everyone spun around and found- no one. Not one living thing except their pack horse, Bill.

"I believe I am going crazy," Strider announced. "I swear I just saw and heard that horse talk!" He blinked. "Maybe the lice in my eyebrows have found their way into my eyes..." Aragorn frantically rubbed at his eyebrows, trying fruitlessly to rid himself of the lice.

"You did!" said the horse. This time, everyone saw its mouth move. They stared, astounded. "My name's Bill. And I really wish Samwise here would get off me."

Poor kindhearted Sam hopped off the horse. "I wasn't meaning to offend, Mister Bill the Talking Horse!" he said.

"Oh, yes, you were," insisted Bill. "As punishment for your rudeness, you will have to bear me as a rider."

Considering the horse was five times Sam's size, he decided not to argue. The unfortunate hobbit got down on all fours. Bill the horse promptly sat down upon him. Sam let out an almighty groan and muttered, "Now I know how Mister Gandalf feels..."

Frodo, Merry, Aragorn, and Pippin were snickering all the way to Weathertop. Behind them, the Nazgul were snickering too.

* * *

Weathertop had another name, if you listened to Aragorn, but no one in their right mind ever listens to Aragorn. The hobbits just saw it as a 'big hillish thing with mighty creepy ruins', if, according to Sam, they did say so themselves.

"I'm bored," announced Merry bluntly, plopping his weary body down on the a stone. "And tired."

"Tired?" Sam spat. "Tired? You say you're tired, and you didn't even have to carry a pack horse on your back all day long!" He glared at Merry, and probably would've hit him if not for the fact that his hands were about as weak as two dead mice.

"Don't fight!" Strider said lazily, sprawled out on the ground like a pig in mud. The halflings ignored him. "I will tell you of the Lay of Luthien Tinuviel as punishment!"

"Oh, no!" all the hobbits said in a very timely unison. "The Lay of Luthien Tinuviel!"

Aragorn cleared his throat. "Here goes," he said, and then began:

"Beren's dick was long and his balls were green

His biceps long and fair

And in the glade a light was seen

Of Beren fucking himself by a fire.

Tinuviel was dancing near there

To the beat of a different drummer

And light of stars was in her tits

And she was wearing sluttish clothing..."

Aragorn continued on, describing how Beren (literally) laid Luthien Tinuviel. The hobbits screamed at the Elf-song-porn and tried to cover their ears, but Aragorn's voice was too Valardammed loud.

Finally he finished with a fortunately tamer passage:

"Long was the time the two had laid

O'er stony mountains cold and grey

Through halls of iron and darkling door

And woods of nightshade morrowless.

They even had sex in the Sundering Seas

And every single night.

And long ago they passed away

Still ready to have another lay."

Strider grinned in a very horny way. "Lord Elrond taught me that one." The poor hobbits screamed and, in Frodo's case, burst into tears.

"No more, please, no more!" begged Sam. "I'm weary in body, and now in soul, thanks to your terrible chanting!" Aragorn glared. Even though it was not directed at him, Frodo started wailing even more loudly, attracting the attention of even the deafish Nazgul.

The Fellowship of the Valardamn Creepy Riders rode up the slope of Weathertop. Aragorn, who was busy thinking about how nice it would be to lay Luthien Tinuviel, didn't hear them, so they were two feet from him before he yelled, _"Run!"_

Naturally, they were surrounded by that time, so they couldn't run. They screeched to each other in a very unsettling way.

Frodo burst into tears once more. He looked lonely and frightened, and he fingered the Ring on the chain around his neck.

"Mister Frodo, don't!" Sam said loudly.

"I need my Ring!" he insisted. "I'm scared! The Ring is my friend!" And so he put it on.

* * *

The Witch-King of Angmar smiled. Of course, no one could see his smile, since he had a creepy I-am-so-Valardamn-evil hood shadowing his face. So he bellowed like a horse being electrified, which meant, "I'm smiling!"

Those stupid hobbits cowered in fear, burying their faces into a random man's shirt. The Witch-King smiled again. _They probably thought that we were saying 'Let's eat them!' _he thought, talking to his ring.

"You're _whaaat?_" asked Nazgul the Third. It sounded like a cow having its eyes popped out. The hobbits looked even more scared.

"Smiling!" the Witch-King bellowed. The hobbits flinched. Suddenly, the Witch-King heard voices. And then he felt its presence!

"The Ring!" he said excitedly, pointing at the One Ring of Power that one of the halflings was putting on. He was blind, but he could tell that the Ring was there. Then one of the voices said, "Mister Frodo put on the Ring and made himself vanish!" The Witch-King groaned in disappointment, which sounded like a charging buffalo.

"The spring? But it's not spring!" said Nazgul the Third. The Witch-King of Angmar raised his sword menacingly, warning his deaf friend to keep quiet. Then he said, "A-ha-ha, I shall stab him!" Since the hobbit was invisible, any normal being wouldn't be able to see him. But no, this was a Nazgul! They are drawn to the Ring.

So drawn to it, in fact, that they all simply had to be making physical contact with it! All Nine Nazgul tackled the invisible hobbit to the ground, and in the middle of all this chaos, the Witch-King stabbed Frodo.

There was an odd battle-cry behind the Nazgul. They had no clue what it was, so they all looked back to see... the random man toting around a bunch of flaming torches!

"Fire!" screamed the Witch-King of Angmar. "We hate fire!"

"We eat liars, too!" Nazgul the Third said, mishearing as usual. The random man hit him with a fiery torch.

* * *

"By the breasts of Luthien Tinuviel!" Aragorn cried, driving the Nazgul away from Frodo. When all the Nine Valardamn Creepy Riders had left (including a royally pissed off Witch-King) he started juggling his torches, just because he felt like it.

Then he saw Frodo, who had taken off the Ring and therefore was visible, and swore. Aragorn threw the torches in the fire and ran over to the hobbit.

"I think he's dying!" said Pippin tearfully. Frodo... well, he didn't look in that great of shape. He was bleeding, and unconscious.

Strider sat back on his haunches and groaned. "I need a drink..."

* * *

**To be continued, as Bill the Talking Horse rides on Sam and as Frodo the Extremely Weepy tries not to succumb from his random stab wound! **


	4. Stone Trolls and Hyper Elves

**Thank you for the feedback, favorites, follows, and for the time you took to read this insane parody! I really appreciate it. **

**In answer to the guest reviewer's question, yes, I will be including Gollum. He'll be following the Fellowship all around Middle-earth and doing some crazy shit. :)**

**Also, I'm sorry to Catching Fireflies for not acknowledging that she Beta-ed my last chapter. So double thanks, for this chapter and last!**

**Glorfindel talks very fast. As I didn't want to have his dialogue without any spaces between the words, I used dashes. Also to Glorfindel fans (I have no clue if there is any, but it never hurts to make sure) I'm sorry. Glorfindel retains none of his actual canon-ness except his appearance. **

* * *

Frodo woke up to find Merry and Pippin staring at him closely.

"I wonder," Pippin said. "If he's dead, can we eat him?"

"No!" Frodo cried, bursting into loud, noisy tears. "Where is the pale king?" he asked.

There was a crackling sound of leaves being trodden on, and Aragorn walked in his usual odd way over to Frodo. "Right here."

"... I think he means the Nazgul King, Strider," said Sam. Aragorn shrugged nonchalantly. "That's a shame, Frodo, I was already making broth. I was thinking you'd make a nice stew." Samwise Lucette Gamgee was hungry. When Samwise Lucette Gamgee is hungry, he'll eat anything. Even his master. Thankfully, he hadn't started to cut off any of Frodo's toes or fingers.

"Thank the Valar!" Frodo sniffled, wiping his teary eyes.

"Can we eat Bill?" asked Merry hungrily, eyeing the talking pack horse.

"No!" Bill cried. If horses could burst into tears, there was no doubt he would've. "That's it, Meriadoc Brandybuck! You'll be joining Samwise in carrying me today!"

Merry glared, and just as he was about to say something, Aragorn interrupted. "Actually, Bill, you're going to have to carry Frodo. He got stabbed by a Morgul-blade, and he's in a rather critical condition."

Bill snorted in disgust, or perhaps a fly just was buzzing too close to him. "You do as I say, Bill!" Aragorn said forcefully, "or I'll tell you all the Tale of Gil-galad!"

"Oh, no!" said the hobbits in a timely unison. "The Tale of Gil-gala-"

"Valardammit, shut up!" Aragorn yelled. He had woken up on the wrong side of the... ground?... and was very grumpy. Frodo burst into tears. "Why the flying Nazgul fuck do you keep crying?" Aragorn demanded, exasperated.

"Because..." Frodo said, his voice trembling, "...because I'm the Ringbearer!"

"If I was the Ringbearer, I would never cry or lose composure," Aragorn said confidently.

"Oh, really?" Frodo taunted. With a flick of his wrist, he revealed the ring from under his shirt. "See my bli-i-i-ing?" he taunted the Ranger.

Aragorn's eyes went all funny and large. "I am their heir of Isildur! Give me the Valardamned Ring! Aaaarghhh!" he cried, leaping at Frodo. Frodo burst into tears, but hid the Ring once more.

"You were saying?" asked Merry as Aragorn came back to his senses.

"Shut up," Aragorn growled.

* * *

And so Strider strode on in his funky, conga-line-ish way. Beside him walked Pippin, who was whining about something, as usual. Merry and Sam were carrying Bill. Bill was carrying the luggage, along with an injured Frodo Baggins and a certain Ring of Power.

"Look! That's one big tower, Mister Frodo! I think it was made by trolls!" Sam pointed at a large stone tower that looked rather old.

"Nah," said Aragorn, scuffing his boots in the earth and sending up a cloud of dust. In the middle of a painful-sounding coughing fit, he choked out, "The trolls just graffiti-ed it." He cleared his throat. "See? It says 'Da Big-Ass Trollz waz here' on that turret. There's a picture of a hand holding a struggling human. That's the gang sign of Da Big-Ass Trollz, a gang around here that dates back to..."

He realized the hobbits were looking at him oddly. "What?" Strider said. "Lord Elrond taught me that one, too!" The poor halflings (the ones that weren't toting a horse around) shuddered in horror and wondered, suddenly, why they _wanted _to go to Rivendell. "Uh, anyway... Pippin, how about you go scout ahead, because you keep whining?" Aragorn said.

"But I don't _like _scouting. I don't _like _walking," Pippin moaned. Aragorn gave him a glare that could make Denethor of Gondor proud. "I mean, yes, O Mighty Future Awesome King of Gondor!" he said hastily, hurrying off.

Aragorn let out a rather scary maniacal laugh and said, "Well, that gets rid of him!" He began whistling a merry tune that sounded suspiciously like 'The Lay of Luthien Tinuviel'.

Pippin hurried back. "Strider! There's a bunch of trolls up ahead! They're big and scary!" He made his best troll face, screwing up his mouth and clawing his fingers through the air.

"Ah, really?" said Strider, excited to have a fight. "Well, then, let us stay quiet, so we can ambush and kill- I mean, sneak past, them." Naturally, the hobbits weren't listening to him. "When I'm King, I'll whip them if they don't listen to me!" Aragorn growled, and then screamed, _"Let us stay quiet!" _

He was met with utter and serene silence from the hobbits, and even Bill. He realized he had just disobeyed his own order and inwardly groaned. "Let's just keep moving," he grumbled.

* * *

"Look at 'em, Strider! Have you ever seen such large beasts? Do you reckon they'd cook well with salt?"

"I don't _like _trolls."

"If that little maggot on my back whines about the Ring one more time, I'll buck him off!"

"Can we hurry up? It's almost time for fifteen millionth dinner."

"Yeah, Merry's right. Plus, my wound hurts like a-"

"Silence! No, they wouldn't cook well!"

The small company of five (or six, if you count Bill the Talking Horse) was arguing in whisper-voices as they hid behind a bush. Merry wanted food. Frodo was whining about his wound. Sam wanted to cook the trolls. Bill wanted to buck Frodo off his back. Pippin didn't _like_ trolls. Aragorn was about to bash his own head against a rock to put himself out of his misery.

"They aren't even alive, dimwits!" he hissed.

"Then why are you whispering?" asked Pippin sensibly. Aragorn picked up a large stick, and the poor hobbit flinched. Then Aragorn walked up to a random troll and hit it with the stick. There was a collective sigh of relief from the bush.

"Shall I sing my lovely song about trolls?" Sam asked. "It's much better than the Lay of Luthien Tinuviel." Aragorn loped back to the bush and raised his stick menacingly. Sam gulped. "Uh... if you don't mind me saying, Mister Strider." He shifted his weight and groaned: Bill, the luggage, and Frodo were still on his back.

"Go ahead and sing your Valardamned song," Aragorn growled. He held up his stick and swung it around like a sword. He positioned it over Sam's head. "If you dare!"

"Uh... I think I forgot the words," said Samwise, well, wisely.

"Good," Aragorn said, smirking.

* * *

As they walked, or strode funkily, or rode on someone's back, or crawled, on the Road, the five (or six) heard a noise like a horse:

_Clip-clop! Clip-clop! Clip-clop! Clip-clop! Clip-clop! Snort! Clip-clop! Clip-clop! Whinny! Clippity-cloppity-clippity-clop!_ Then, an unpleasant noise that is best described as a horse defecating.

"It's a Valardamn Creepy Rider!" Frodo yelped, bursting into tears.

"No, it's not!" Strider said. "It's Glorfindel!" He grinned insanely. The company of five (or six) were on a cliff. Below them, a lovely white horse came into view. Its rider was of the Elven-folk, and had long golden hair. He was wearing a long, fancy cloak, and was shining with an odd white light that made whoever looked upon him wonder if they had smoked too much pipe-weed.

With a yell that would make a wild man proud, Aragorn dived off the cliff and fell smack dab onto Glorfindel's horse. The poor horse fell to its knees under the weight of Aragorn and Glorfindel.

On the cliff, poor Bill the Talking Horse snorted and bowed his head, causing Frodo to slip off. "My poor comrade, forced to carry that awful Ranger..."

"Strider's not _that_ fat!" Sam said from under Bill, loyal as ever. "If you don't mind me saying, Strider!" he called down hastily.

"Dunadan-Dunadan-Dunadan!" Glorfindel cried in an extremely fast voice. "How-I've-missed-your-company-where-have-you-been-you-terrible-being?"

Aragorn, who was quite used to Glorfindel's hyper tendencies, responded: "I've been dressed up in a maple tree costume."

"Oh-really-how-did-it-feel-to-be-a-tree? Did-you-go-to-Gondor-finally-and-claim-the-Valardamn-throne?" Glorfindel said excitedly. His hair whipped all over the place as he nodded at Aragorn and bounced up and down on the horse.

On the cliff, four (or five) members of the company exchanged concerned glances.

"Come on, then," Merry said, "let's go save Strider from the hyper elf!" Drawing his dagger, he slid down the cliff-side, yelling "For our stripping/drinking contest friend!" The three other hobbits followed suit.

"For the precious!"

"For Strider, if he doesn't mind me saying!"

"For six meals a day!"

Bill found a deer trail down the side of the cliff and daintily climbed down. "Samwise Gamgee, why on Middle-earth did you set me down?" Sam pretended like he hadn't heard as he rushed toward Glorfindel, prepared to skewer him with a marshmallow-toasting stick.

Aragorn looked and sounded quite startled as he tried to respond to Glorfindel, introduce him at the same time, and stop the hobbits from gutting him:

"Actually, everyone seemed to look at me oddly when I was dressed up as- Meriadoc Brandybuck, put down that knife!- as a tree -no, stop it, that's Glorfindel, he's from the House of Elrond, and he's- well, actually, Gondor seems to be doing fine without- Valardammit, Frodo passed out again-"

Glorfindel decided to take matters into his own hands. "Hi-my-name-is-Glorfindel! I-live-in-Rivendell! Let's-all-go-to-Rivendell-and-eat-a-lot-of-food!" He grinned maniacally. The hobbits shrugged, having no clue what Glorfindel had said, excepting 'food'. Food seemed okay to them, so they assumed Glorfindel was okay too.

"Glorfindel, this young hobbit has been stabbed by a Morgul-blade," said Aragorn dramatically. He gestured to Frodo, who had regained consciousness. Glorfindel let out a gasp that, in the animal-sound language of the Nazgul, would be translated as 'Sheep intestines!'.

"Oh-dear-old-friend-mellon-whatever-why-didn't-you-tell-me?" the Elf-lord said nervously. "Get-off-the-horse-so-the-hobbit-can-ride-to-Rivendell! We-shall-walk-there-and-I'll-tell-you-all-the-Tale-of-Gil-galad!" He hopped off the horse and dragged Strider off it by his armpits. "Hurry-hurry-hurry!" Glorfindel cried hyper-ly.

Frodo burst into tears. "But I don't want to go with the strange Elf guy!" he wailed, tears dripping down his face. A teardrop landed on the Ring, and he wiped it off quickly. "And my bitter tears are staining the precious!" He accidentally poked his wound, and let out a wail of pain that sounded like a zebra braying.

"You see!" Aragorn said concernedly to Glorfindel. "He's already far gone! Referring to the One Ring as 'precious'! Making animal sounds just like the Valardamn Creepy Riders!"

"You're-right-of-course-Dunadan-help-me-get-this-wailing-mongrel-onto-my-pristine-white-horse!" Glorfindel said quickly. The Ranger tackled Frodo to the ground and slung him onto the horse. Frodo burst into tears again.

"Don't worry, Mister Frodo!" Sam called. "Glorfindel's not going with you. It's just you and the horse! And this one doesn't even talk, all the better, right?" Frodo's gardener managed a smile as the hyper Elf-lord smacked the horse on the rump and yelled, "Ride-on-ride-on-ride-on-Asfaloth!"

The familiar sound of Frodo crying was heard all the way to Mordor.

* * *

The Fellowship of the Valardamn Creepy Riders was not happy.

"I have burn marks in my cape!" Nazgul the Third whined, which sounded like a blowfish being stuck with a needle.

"Shh! We have to be quiet and creepy and sneak up on the sobbing little hobbit brat with the Ring!" snapped the Witch-King of Angmar, who was not in the best of moods.

All Nine Valardamn Creepy Riders were hiding behind some very conveniently placed bushes, and arguing among themselves.

"There he comes now!" (A squeal like a pig being knifed.)

"Shut the hell up!" (A yelp like a rabid dog.)

"No, you shut the hell up!" (A hiss like a snake having sexual intercourse, and then a rabid dog yelp.)

"Let's just stab him!" (A strange noise like two sea urchins being rubbed up against each other.)

"We already did that!" (A sound like that a barn owl might make while being poked in the ass.)

"For Mordor!" yelled the Witch-King over his arguing companions. And he raced out from behind that shrub faster than Glorfindel can talk! He was quickly followed by the rest of the Fellowship of the Valardamn Creepy Riders, who waved their Morgul-blades around wildly. They all crashed into each other, got back up, and kept running at Frodo.

"Wait!" said Nazgul the Third. "We forgot our horses!"

"Oh well, let's just get the Ring!" said the Witch-King. He could hear a horse: _Clippity-clippity-clappity-clop! Clip-clop! Horse defecation sound!_

* * *

"'Now, remember, Frodo,'" said Frodo to himself nervously. "'If you ever see a Valardamn Creepy Rider, invoke the names of odd Elvish deities against them. Remember. Remember.'" Bilbo had told him that once. Frodo never thought he'd have use for the knowledge, so he never bothered to learn Elvish.

There was a loud, cacophonous battle-cry of animal sounds from behind a bush, and Frodo winced and burst into tears at the sight of the Valardamn Creepy Riders.

He'd heard many tales about them. The very sight of them caused you to shiver and tremble so much your horse wondered if you were grinding on it! The very sight, mind you! The smell of their breath was said to give you a sickness called the Valardamn Creepy Breath! The feel of their cold, gauntlet-encased hands pulling your limbs away from your body was said to kill you! Or possibly that was just the loss of one's arms and legs.

Frodo tried to remember Elvish: "O Emmabeth! Gabrielle!" he cried, but it did nothing to stop the Riders from coming at him, screeching and waving their swords about. "Drat!" he said. "Why won't it work? O Ellabeth! Gill thong eel!" he tried, but it didn't work. He began to cry even louder. Surely he was doomed! The Riders were so close!

But right before the Valardamn Creepy Riders could make him shiver and shake against his horse, kill him, pry off his limbs, or give him the Valardamn Creepy Breath, something quite unexpected happened.

There was a flash-flood! Water from the Misty Mountains' melty snow rushed down the Bruinen, sweeping the Black Riders off their feet. Frodo, along with Glorfindel's mighty steed, Asfaloth, passed out cold at the force of the water.

The last thing Frodo heard was the screech of a Valardamn Creepy Rider that sounded like an eagle being strangled, but actually translated to: "I told you we should've brought the horses!"

* * *

**To be continued, as Aragorn the Ranger, Glorfindel the Hyper, and Bill the Talking Horse lead the three other hobbits to Rivendell, and Frodo has Way Too Many Meetings! **


	5. Horns, Swords, and Elrond

**Thank you for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following! It motivates me to write this, and goodness knows I could use some motivation sometimes. :)**

**As this is (in my opinion) a rather dull chapter, I'll be including some snippets that aren't in the book (Aragorn and Company go to Rivendell, Boromir enters Imladris and meets Elrond). **

**In the part where Gandalf says 'Aragorn son of Arathorn son of (and so on)' I made up Aragorn's various relatives. Also, you can be sure that Boromir's great-grandfather's name was not Tim. **

**No, this is not Frodo/Aragorn slash. Frodo's a little loopy from his medicine, in case you couldn't tell.**

**Thanks to Catching Fireflies for Beta-ing! **

* * *

"Aaaaand... young Hugo Barnes never was the same agaiiin..." Aragorn sang, finishing yet another drinking song. He and Glorfindel had been singing them for hours on end. Strider had picked up some excellent ones in Bree, and Glorfindel was singing Elf-song-porn at the top of his lungs and as fast as he could talk.

"Lovely-Dunadan-the-terribleness-of-your-singing-voice-rivals-that-of-a-cat's-as-it's-being-sexually-abused," Glorfindel said, grinning crazily.

"What did you just dare say to me?" the Ranger bellowed angrily, raising his broken sword menacingly.

"Oh-naught-Dunadan-naught-at-all," Glorfindel lied quickly. "Now-let's-sing-another-song-about-the-Last-Alliance. We-haven't-sung-any-of-those-in-a-while. Let's-have-a-duet-"

"No!" yelled Pippin. "I don't _like_ the Last Alliance. Or your singing! Either of your singing! Can we just shut up and walk?" Glorfindel glared at the hobbit. Pippin's question hung in the air like an axe hanging over someone's neck. Nobody wanted to let that axe fall, so nobody answered. Therefore it was silent.

Sam was still carrying Bill the Talking Horse on his back. He was beginning to look extremely pained. Bill was having the time of his life, sitting there majestically. Aragorn was walking in his odd way, and Glorfindel walked along beside him. It was not surprising to anybody that his walk was as quick as his talk. Merry and Pippin walked side-by-side, both scuffing their sore feet in the dirt. After all, they didn't _like _walking.

"I want to go fishing in the Bruinen," Merry said to no one in particular after a long quiet. "Anyone else up for it?"

"Why-I'd-love-to-go-fishing!"

"That sounds permissible-"

"I don't _like _fish-"

"Give me sugar cubes, not-"

"Anything to get this Valardamn horse off my back! If you don't mind me saying so, Bill."

So, by the wonderful concept known as majority rule, it was agreed that they would go fishing in the Bruinen. Aragorn, being a Ranger, had made them fishing poles in a mere matter of minutes, and Glorfindel supplied the hooks. The hobbits dug worms out from the ground and they all put them on their hooks.

And they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

"_Mmmbumbity hummbah..._ weary dick, and finally he c-" Strider mumbled under his breath.

Pippin recognized the line and glared at Aragorn. "I thought you told us that you wouldn't sing the Lay of Luthien Tinuviel again!" he said sternly. "Why, I could just hit you with this fishing pole!" Strider shrugged a bit sheepishly and kept waiting. Then...

"Hey, Glorfindel?"

"What-is-it-Dunadan?" Glorfindel asked, jolting his fishing-rod through the water rapidly, bored at all this silence and waiting.

"D'ya think Elrond would permanently maim me if I was to hit Arwen on the backside with a fishing pole?" Aragorn asked. Merry, Bill, Sam and Pippin shuddered in disgust at this image.

"No," Glorfindel said honestly.

"Good," said Aragorn, "because young Pippin here just gave me the most splendid idea-"

"No-he-would-kill-you-foolish-Dunadan-not-simply-maim-you!" Glorfindel said quickly, before his mind could be once again defiled by Aragorn's words.

"Hey!" Merry said suddenly, "I think I've caught something! And it's pretty large, too!" His fishing pole was practically breaking under the stress. He pulled the line up the bank of the River, up, up, and-

And something rather black, unconscious, sodden, and cloaked was hauled at Merry's feet.

"Aiiiieee!" Glorfindel howled. "You-caught-a-Nazgul!"

* * *

Frodo woke and found himself swimming in bed. _Oh, Valardammit, _he thought to himself. _Of all times Bilbo's puberty talk would come in handy, why did now have to be the time? _His face turned red in mortification, and tears sprang to his eyes.

"Drat, I spilled the ointment for his wound," said a familiar voice. Frodo let out a sigh of relief. _Phew! _

"Where am I? On how many inches of Middle-earth do I lie? What is the time? Is it morning or night? What time zone are we in? What is the millisecond? What day is it? What year? What-" Frodo asked, but he was interrupted.

"Dammit, shut up!" the voice yelled. Frodo opened his eyes to see Gandalf. "You're in Rivendell, in the Last Housely Home of Elrond. Or possibly the Last Homely House. Whatever. And you lie in about forty-five inches of Middle-earth, because you're short. It's ten o'clock in the morning. We are in the time zone of Imladris. Also known as Rivendell, which I think I just stated. The milliseconds are passing too quickly for me to count, you insolent hobbit! And it's October the twenty-fourth. Do you really not even know the Valardamn year?"

After Gandalf sufficiently vented his spleen, Frodo burst into tears. "Stop yelling!" he said, wounded.

Gandalf shrugged. "A wizard's gotta do what a wizard's gotta do."

"Is Sam all right?" Frodo asked, wiping the tears off his face.

The wizard looked down at him with a very somber look on his face. "I'm afraid not," he said gently. "Samwise is healing from severe back injuries."

"May the Valar damn all Talking Horses, especially Bill!" Frodo snarled, infuriated that Bill had hurt his servant.

Gandalf dropped his pipe in surprise. "Does your horse talk?" he asked brightly. Frodo nodded sulkily. "Mine does also!"

Frodo decided to ignore him. "I could've never gotten here without _Strider_," he said. He batted his eyelashes and attempted another seductive look.

The poor wizard nearly jumped out of his skin. "After years of the unmarried life, Frodo, you take a fancy to _Strider_? _Strider_, of all people?" Gandalf said, astonished.

"No, no!" Frodo said hastily. "He's just very warm to sleep next to." Frodo was referring to when, on Weathertop, all of them huddled together after the Ringwraiths had left, as it was freezing cold out.

Gandalf gave a shudder and mutterred something about 'betrothed', 'future King', and 'too tall for a hobbit, anyway'. Then he raised his voice and said, "Did you know I was held captive?"

"Ooh, really?" Frodo asked. "You?" He sat up in eagerness and hit Gandalf in the face with his own face.

Gandalf, rubbing his nose, said, "Yes, me, Valardammit! Me! Gandalf the Grey! Gandalf the Soon-to-be-White! Gandalf the _Frickin' Awesome_!" He yelled this so loudly Frodo burst into tears.

"So, how'd that thing in Bree go for you? Did Aragorn run up to you and give you a hug? Because I told him not to do that, so it's not my fault if he did. He's a rather friendly person. Especially to those shorter than him-" Gandalf started.

"Ooh," Frodo said, raptorous. "Aragorn. That's such a sexy name..." He was smacked upside the head by Gandalf. "I- um- uh- I mean, he's good, for a Man." He nodded quickly. Gandalf rolled his eyes.

"There are not a lot of Men left like Aragorn son of Arathorn son of Aramir son of Aranor son of Ara-Gilad son of-" Gandalf started. Frodo glared. Gandalf stopped and then said, "Aragorn, heir of Isildur" in a rather dejected voice. Frodo could tell he was rather dissapointed that he had not been allowed to name all of Aragorn's sires, great-grandsires, great-great-grandsires, and so on. "Anyway. _You're_ the Ringbearer. And the heir of Bilbo."

"Ooh! Aragorn and I can be heirs to-ge-therrrr!" Frodo squealed.

Gandalf looked over his shoulder and called, "Elrond! Elrond! The medicine you gave him is causing him to fall in love and lust with your foster son!"

* * *

_You know a dinner's boring when you're talking with a Dwarf!_ Frodo thought to himself miserably. Gloin of the Lonely Mountain _did_ know Bilbo, and he _did _seem quite willing to converse. But then again, Glorfindel did too...

For Aragorn and Company (as Aragorn himself called it, only promptly to be smacked by Glorfindel with a 'Dunadan-it-was-my-Company-too') had made it to Rivendell. Frodo had spoken with Sam, Pippin, and Merry. Apparently, there was a lot of Elf-song-porn singing involved. Frodo was rather glad he had left when he had.

Aragorn wasn't at the feast. Pippin had explained that he was 'carving a fishing pole', or something of that sort. Merry and Pippin sat with Sam, who had a brace on his back. They were all chattering about their journey together, and Frodo was also rather glad he couldn't hear them. Glorfindel was talking like a maniac, wildly waving about his eating utensils, and spitting food as he talked. Lord Elrond was wincing at the sight.

"And, so, you see, Bombur says, 'How, again, did Smaug sound? I cannot exactly remember the horrid noise the fell beast made.' and so I..."

"Mmmhhhummm..." Frodo grunted, trying to pretend like he was listening.

"'I shall do my best imitation', says I, and he..."

"Gruaaahgahmrafangladarreeee..." Frodo mumbled.

"Why, yes!" Gloin said. "That was perfect, Master Baggins! Did Bilbo teach you?"

"Hm?" Frodo said, realizing his name and cousin had been mentioned.

"The noise you just made! Why, it sounded exactly like Smaug!" said the Dwarf excitedly.

"Glarrrrrrrggggahhehhhh..." Frodo responded, for he had stopped paying attention at the word 'noise'.

"Perfect! Do it again!" Gloin said.

"Hrraaawwwfoorrrieeehhhh..." Frodo muttered.

* * *

Bilbo Baggins was quite impatient.

He had been hiding under a ratty old cloak, staring at a platter of bread and cheese for half an hour, waiting for Frodo! And, as always, his cousin was late, late, late.

Or, rather, the precious was late. Cousin Frodo was just an added bonus.

Then! Bilbo felt someone punch him in the shoulder. He looked up with a snarl like a rabid dog and saw... oh dear!

"Go away, Gollum! Away!" he snapped. "How come you're in Rivendell?"

"I am not Gollum," said the voice of Elrond. "Frodo is here."

"Oh," Bilbo said sheepishly. "My apologies."

He heard a rustling sound, and suddenly someone hugged him. Arrgh! He detested hugs! And pitying glances. And Elves offering to help him walk down the stairs. It was all quite infuriating to him. Bilbo, frankly, detested old age.

"Bilbo!" Frodo said, pulling away from Bilbo.

Bilbo had only one thought on his mind: "Preciousss!" he screamed, leaping with surprising agility at Frodo. "I mean," he stammered as Elrond held him back. "Frodo, my lad, you are precious to me!" He patted Frodo on the back, and tried to grab the Ring while doing so.

"No, no, don't you dare, Bilbo!" said Elrond sternly. Bilbo sulked for a moment.

"Where's the frickin' Dunadan? Maybe him and I can sing a song, and then we can drown our sorrows in drink!" he suggested. "Then he can go off and hit Arwen with a fishing pole. I mean, uh, get the Dunadan."

The two hobbits sat in awkward silence for a few minutes, not really sure what to talk about. Then Bilbo felt a kind of foreboding sense, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. Someone was watching him! _Oh no, _Bilbo thought frantically. _It's the Eye of Sauron! Valar save us!_

* * *

Aragorn tapped Bilbo's shoulder. "Hello, Bilbo," he said with a smile. For some reason, Bilbo flinched like Sauron himself had just tapped him on the shoulder.

"Aaugh! Uh, hello, Dunadan," he said. Aragorn decided not to question the sudden screaming.

"Strider!" Frodo said with an oddly flirty look. "You have a lot of names." _Was that a seductive lip-licking and an eyebrow-batting? No, it couldn't be. But yes, it was!_ Poor Aragorn was a bit disturbed by this, but tried not to pay it any mind.

"And you haven't even heard the others yet!" he said. He pulled out his nametag and read the words on it aloud. "Hello, my name is AragornSonOfArathornStriderDunadanWingfoot-"

"All right, all right!" Bilbo cut in. "Let's write and then sing a lovely song about Earendil!"

And so they did.

* * *

Frodo, at first, listened in interest. But the song was extremely long, and rather boring, so he just mumbled nonsense whenever anyone talked to him.

He did, however, catch the phrases Aragorn had probably written. "His 'sword' was long and pleasant to the touch" was one of the worst, and Frodo nearly burst into tears at the atrocity of Isildur's heir writing that.

Then he wondered if Aragorn's 'sword' was long and pleasant to the touch...

_Damn Elvish medicine!_ Frodo thought angrily. _Making me fall in lust with Strider! _Elrond was going to pay for this...

* * *

Early the next morning -the _grey _morning, in fact- Boromir son of Denethor son of Ecthelion son of Tim son of Bob son of John son of... you get the idea. Boromir of Gondor, the Steward's son, had arrived at Rivendell.

His clothes were finely made. His head was held high in haughtiness. His stride was able, and he walked with confidence through the gardens. Boromir's hair was shorn at his shoulders. He had a noble, regal look about him.

Then, someone tapped him on the shoulder. The man had had a rather tiring journey, and that really was the last straw for him.

Boromir spun around and had his sword at the tapper's throat. His hair stood on end, and he glared like a Ringwraith deprived of its Ring. Which was not a very pretty sight. "Who the hell are you? Curse you and your ancestors for interrupting me and my thoughts! I shall spill your blood on the ground and laugh! Then I'll burn your blood, and like oil, it will only take seconds to- oh. Elrond."

The Lord of Imladris glared. "Hello to you too. Welcome, Boromir son of the Steward." Elrond looked at him pityingly. Boromir did not understand why. "Is this your first encounter with an Elf?"

"Yes," Boromir said, not knowing why Elrond was asking.

"Enjoy it while you can," Elrond said wisely.

Boromir got a bit of a shiver at this. What, was he going to die or something, and did Elrond know?_ No,_ he told himself confidently. _That is impossible. _

"If you do not mind me saying," Elrond continued, "that is one mighty Horn you have there." Elrond's gaze went around Boromir's waistline.

_The Valardamn Half-elf is looking at my Valardamn crotch! Valardammit! _Boromir thought.

"It is indeed!" he shot back, though he still felt a foreboding of this apparently horny Half-elf.

"May I feel it?" Elrond inquired. He wondered why Boromir looked so appalled. All he wanted to do was take a closer look at the Man's war-horn!

"No!" Boromir yelled. He drew his sword again, and unhooked the Horn of Gondor from his belt. He put it to his lips, ready to call for help, and Elrond finally realized that Boromir had taken his statements the wrong way. Poor Elrond turned pink as he thought of how the Gondorian must be observing this.

"I meant that Horn, not-" Elrond stammered, pointing at Boromir's crotch. "That!"

Realizing this, Boromir scowled. He sheathed his sword and glared at Elrond. "Just you wait, Elrond the Half-elven. I never permit anyone to look upon the family jewels without permission." He stalked off.

_Oh, dear, _Elrond thought. _Young Frodo told me that he'd make me pay for drugging him. Now this Man of Gondor is threatening me, too! I may have to increase the security around my chambers. _

* * *

**To be continued, as Elrond holds a Council, bad Horn of Gondor puns are made, and the various races of Middle-Earth argue amongst each other! **


	6. The Council, Minus Elrond

**Thank you for the- who am I kidding, if you've read my other A/Ns, you know what I'm going to say... But honestly, thanks to all of you.**

**In answer to the guest reviewer's question (possibly a rhetorical question, but who knows) "Does Strider have to be a perv?" Umm... no? Yes? Occasionally? It's kind of a comic relief thing.  
**

**A bit of the lines are pulled from the book. I don't own them. Obviously.**

**Thanks to Catching Fireflies for Beta-ing again!**

* * *

"Fear! Fire! Foes! Awake!" screamed Merry, standing in the halls of Rivendell.

"Shush! It's not that, you fool! It's this:" Peregrin took a breath. "Beer! Fire! No clothes! A lake!"

"That sounds like Bree to me," said Sam, "if you don't mind me saying." He winced. The brace on his back was very uncomfortable.

"No, you don't get it," Aragorn said exasperatedly, stumbling out of his room. His eyes were bloodshot. "I told you last night to _wake up_ everyone, not to tell them that there was a fire! Or beer, for that matter. Although that really got me out of bed. Never mind! Stop shouting."

Frodo gave a sigh. "Well, it got Aragorn up, now all we need is the random Elves, Dwarves, and that annoying man with the Hor-"

A good dozen of Dwarves ran out from various rooms in their nightclothes, screaming, "Where's the fire? Can we forge things with it?"

Aragorn glared at Pippin. "Now look what you've done," he hissed.

"Cheer! Wire! Toes! A snake!" Pippin responded in a scream.

A good dozen random Elves stampeded out of their rooms. "A snake? Ha! Puny mortal snake! It won't survive _me_!" bellowed Erestor. He looked around, and, seeing no snake to kill, glared in a very un-Elven way.

"Pier! Tire! Glows! A cake!" said Pippin loudly.

Boromir of Gondor ran out into the halls, wearing a quilt like a cape. "Glows, you say? What glows? The light coming off the lovely White Tree of Gondor? Have you brought it here? Oh, I knew Father would get my note telling him to ship it to Rivendell so I could gaze upon it all day and get a vaguely stoned expression on my face!"

Pippin gave a Aragorn a smug smile. "'Stop shouting', you say. Like you could've gotten them all up."

Just then, a good dozen Elves, Dwarves, and one son of Denethor, all realizing they had been tricked, attacked Pippin for waking them up so early in the morning.

Three hobbits and one son of Arathorn laughed.

* * *

"This is Gimli son of Gloin son of G'zoin son of G'ioin son of Gtoin son of Groin," said Elrond.

"Hello, Gimli great-great-grandson of Groin," said the various races of Middle-earth in a monotone. The various races of Middle-earth then muffled immature chuckles. Gimli glared at the mockery.

"This is Gloin son of-" Elrond started calmly, ready to go down the whole family line of Dwarves. Again.

"We know, Valardammit, you nasty, sexually abusive Half-elf," snarled a certain Gondorian.

Elrond looked at Boromir and a most un-Elven sneer was on his face, oddly accompanied by an embarrassed flush. "And this," Elrond snapped, "is Boromir son of A Bitch."

Boromir once again resembled an angry Nazgul. "You shall pay!" he cried, leaping up from his chair. "I shall blow the Horn of Gondor, and everyone will flee!"

Frodo buried his face in his hands. "Tell me when he's done," the poor Ringbearer whispered. When there was no cries of disgust or the like, he peeked through his fingers. Boromir was standing there, holding his war-horn to his mouth. He trumpeted a long, low note and grinned at everyone's relived sighs, proud of his sexual innuendo. He sat down, satisfied.

Elrond glared in, once again, a very un-Elven way. Then he grabbed Frodo and pulled him to his side, looking a bit like he was taking the poor hobbit hostage. "This, my friends, is the hobbit, Frodo son of Drogo. Few have ever come hither through a greater peril or on an errand more urgent."

To everyone's dismay, Boromir stood up again. "My peril is greater than yours! Come hither and we'll arm-wrestle for it!" He bared his teeth, now looking like a rabid dog.

Frodo burst into tears and buried his face in Elrond's robes. "Fine, fine! Your peril is greater! I won't disagree! Don't kill me!"

Elrond gave Gandalf a bit of a wary look. "How did he make it this far?"

"Sheer-luck-and-a-bit-of-help-from-me-and-the-Dunadan-but-mostly-me!" Glorfindel piped up in his typical speed-of-lightening hyper way.

"Say it to my face!" snarled Aragorn, who was slightly hungover after his drink with Bilbo and not in the best of moods.

"Oh-but-I-did-Dunadan!"

"Boys, boys!" said Elrond, sounding rather like a reprimanding father. He then pushed Frodo away from him, disgusted that he had cried on his clothes, which ruined the paternal image entirely.

And when a still-weeping Frodo had sat down, the Council began.

* * *

Not all that was spoken of in the Council need now be told, because it would look bad in a tale of immense dignity, grimness, and pride. Nevertheless, it shall be summed up here:

There was much talking about Southrons, Easterlings, and Gondorians. During these discussions, Boromir leaped from his seat frequently and started ranting about the battles he had been in, to the dismay of everyone in the Council. Though it was not seen by any, when no one was looking, Aragorn took hasty gulps of _miruvor_ from a flask at his hip. As battles were described (often with sound effects from various Council members) Frodo often burst into tears. Gandalf mumbled a song that sounded suspiciously as if Tom Bombadil had written it.

It shall not be transcribed here, but the title shall be stated: "Hop Along, My Hearties, After Running Naked Through the Forest".

As the terrible song was hummed, as Boromir ranted, as Frodo wept, and as Aragorn got steadily inebriated, the Council went on.

* * *

"Wonder of the Northern word! Moria! _Mo_ria! _Mor_ia! _Mori_a! _Moria!_" Gloin said, his voice steadily crescendo-ing with each exclamation. He assumed a rather rapturous expression as he talked of Moria. Dank, stinking, orc-filled Moria, which apparently was the wonder of the Northern world.

"I hate to see what the rest of the Northern world is like," said Elrond sniffily.

All Northerners leaped out of their seats angrily.

"It was a jest!" Elrond said quickly.

"It better have been." A sword was sheathed.

"Yeah, no kidding." A battle-ax was set down.

"Great foster father you are," Aragorn grumbled.

Elrond gulped. "Um... go on, Gloin."

"Well, one day a while ago, a messenger from Mordor approached Dain," continued Gloin.

There was a loud mumbling/groaning/grunting/but mostly snoring sound from Frodo: "Rffetekaldkakaaa..."

"Yes!" said Gloin happily. "That is the noise of the fell messenger's breathing! Do it again!"

"Gfrrrarafaklkkk..." Frodo groaned.

Gandalf, who saw that Frodo's eyes were closed and knew his mumbles were snores, elbowed him in the side.

* * *

After a lengthy retelling of the messenger's conversation with Dain (punctuated by Frodo's various snoring noises), Elrond began talking about the Rings of Power. His voice was clear and resonant. It was firm, and everyone was at attention. Or so it seemed to the casual viewer.

"I beheld the last combat on the slopes of Orodruin..." Elrond said. Then he took a good look around.

Gandalf was twiddling his thumbs and singing "Hey! Ho! Tom Bombadil!" under his breath.

Aragorn was sprawled in his chair, raising the flask of _miruvor_ to his mouth periodically.

Frodo, fast asleep, was snoring in an alarmingly loud way.

Boromir was talking in his sleep: "Why would one want to lay a Haradrim woman?"

Gloin, more than a bit out of sorts, was muttering, "Moria. Moria. Moria."

Glorfindel was talking rapidly to Aragorn. "Oh-I-love-_miruvor_-also-Dunadan-would-you-mind-giving-me-a-sip?"

Elrond took a deep breath and bellowed, "Is anyone listening?"

"Yes, Father!" cried Boromir, waking up abruptly. "Er... Indeed I am, Lord Elrond." Elrond scowled.

"Well, as I was saying-" Elrond tried to continue.

"Hey! Come, merry dol, derry dol!" Gandalf said loudly.

Elrond, looking positively murderous, leapt from his own seat. "Fine! I can see when I am not needed!" he yelled, sounding like a child whose feelings have been wounded. And he stormed off, calling something over his shoulder that sounded something like, "I'm going to go polish my sword that I used in the Last Alliance!"

"Is that what they're calling it now?" yelled Gloin after the Half-elf. "I assume you'll be 'polishing your sword' with a picture of Celebrian in front of you?"

Elrond made a sound best described as a growl, and left the Council members' lines of vision.

Silence.

"What was Elrond talking about, anyway?" asked Gimli.

"No idea," Aragorn said with a suspiciously slurred voice.

"_Miruvor_!" said Galdor indignantly. "Dunadan, how could you?" The Elf from the Grey Havens stalked over to Aragorn and took his flask with a disapproving look. "You forgot to give me some!"

"I'll get some more!" Legolas, a messenger from his father, King Thranduil of Mirkwood called, running off.

"But we must destroy the Ring!" cried Frodo helplessly. He looked over at Gandalf. "Do something, Gandalf! Turn them into something unnatural!"

Gandalf responded with a cheerful, "Old Tom Bombadil is a merry fellow!"

Frodo lost all hope of peace in Middle-earth right there and then. Along with his supper, but that's not to be discussed.

"Attention!" said a firm voice. Everyone turned to Elrond's seat, where the voice had came from, and they saw Boromir sitting there. "Before we drink, let's get this horrid Council over with! All right. So, I came here because I had a dream-"

"Oh!" said Aragorn drunkenly. "Like how I dream about Arwen?" Erestor cuffed him on the head.

"You're lucky Lord Elrond isn't here!" the Elf hissed angrily.

"No, actually," said Boromir, glaring. "It was a vision! In the dream, Mordor was overcast. Gondor was sunny. My brother Faramir dreamed this also. He is rather set on predicting the weather for the farmers now, to earn some money, but I believe the dream is a vision!"

"Tell-me-something-I-don't-know!" Glorfindel said in his usual rapid way.

"Anyway!" Boromir said. He was beginning to sympathize with Elrond's frustration. "From the West a voice called, saying:

_Seek for the Sword That Was Broken and Then Broken a Couple More Times by a Certain Young Boy Named Estel:_

_In Imladris it dwells;_

_There shall be counsels taken, but mostly not taken_

_Stronger than Morgul-Spells, and damn, are those strong._

_There shall be shown a token_

_That your doom, I mean, the Doom of All is near at hand_

_For Isildur's heir will be drunken_

_And one of those puny Halflings shall stand."_

"Here!" Aragorn said. "Here's the Sword That Was Broken and Then Broken a Couple More Times by a Certain Young Boy Named Estel. By the way, I was that young boy." He unsheathed his sword and threw it at Boromir. It was in two pieces, and, drunk as he was, Aragorn's aim was off, so fortunately Boromir was saved from a rather unfortunate beheading.

"It's shiny..." Boromir said, his eyes widening alarmingly, staring at the Sword That Was Broken and Then Broken a Couple More Times by a Certain Young Boy Named Estel. "Very shiny..."

"I don't care if it's shiny! I'm the heir of Isildur, Valardammit!" Aragorn yelled.

Boromir's eyes looked as if they might pop out of his head. "Really?" he said in awe.

"Did you not listen? I'll have you hung for not listening to me!" Aragorn said. Then he passed out cold, to the mixed relief and horror of the Council members.

"And this is Isildur's Bane!" said Gandalf. He elbowed Frodo again.

Boromir's eyes widened yet more. "The Halfling is Isildur's Bane?" He looked like he could run at Frodo and decapitate him. "We must destroy it!"

"No, you idiot!" cried the Grey Pilgrim. "Frodo, get out the Valardamn Ring!" Frodo, who had burst into tears at the prospect of possible destruction, dug in his pockets. He shook out the sleeves of his tunic. He panicked. "Did you lose it again?" Gandalf asked exasperatedly. "Ring-a-ding-dillo!" he added.

"Well... er... possibly..." Frodo said while shaking out the legs of his pants. Then he paused and pulled it off the chain around his neck. "Never mind. It's right here." Gandalf sighed noisily.

"It's even shinier," Boromir said, a rather terrifying smile on his face. "Shiny... precious... Aaaugh! Wait! It is the Doom of Minas Tirith!"

The various races of Middle-earth were now seriously doubting Boromir's sanity. And Gandalf's. And Aragorn's. And- well, everyone's. Including their own.

Boromir was still shouting random things. "By the Tower of Ecthelion falling down! By my dirtiest under-tunic! By the heir of Isildur! By Faramir's horse's rear end! I have never seen such a Ring before!"

Bilbo, who was also present at the Council, heard only 'By the heir of Isildur'. "Let me tell you all a poem I wrote for my dear friend, Smaug! I mean, Aragorn!" he cried. He hit Aragorn's unconscious body with his walking-stick. "Here it is:

All that is gold does not glitter (Especially Aragorn when he's been travelling for a long time)

Not all those who wander are lost (Except Aragorn, who gets lost faster than a Nazgul in the Shire)

The old that is strong does not wither (In other words, Aragorn, you're getting quite elderly)

Deep roots are not reached by the frost (I have no clue what I just wrote, Aragorn, but it rhymes, it rhymes)

From the ashes a fire shall be woken (Yeah, Aragorn, and you'll burn in it like a pig on a spit)

A light from the shadows shall spring (As long as you're holding a lantern, Aragorn, when you spring out of said shadows)

Renewed shall be Blade That Was Broken and Then Broken a Couple More Times by a Certain Young Boy Named Estel (And a clumsy little boy you were, too)

The crownless again shall be King (Let's hope we're talking about some other crownless King, because if not, Gondor is doomed)."

Aragorn, who had woken up when Bilbo hit him, scratched his head, puzzled. "Strange," he said. "There's some questionable subtext in this..."

* * *

Not all that was spoken of in the Council need directly be told, as was stated before. Many things happened. Gandalf told of a trip to Minas Tirith. Whenever the words 'Gondor', Minas Tirith', or 'Denethor' were spoken, Boromir would smile like Aragorn when he has partaken in far too much _miruvor_. Coincidentally, Aragorn had actually done so.

Gandalf talked in the Black Speech. It probably would have been very intimidating and dark, except he kept interrupting himself with random "derry-ding-dillo!"-s, and "Merry dol!"-s. Frodo, still quite frightened by the words, burst into tears again. Erestor jumped from his chair and yelled at Gandalf for breaking Rule 56478822 of Rivendell. Rule 56478822 stated, apparently, that the Black Speech was not to be spoken anywhere in or around Imladris. Gandalf knocked out Erestor with his staff, and the Council proceeded.

Legolas son of Thranduil spoke of the creature Gollum's escape from Mirkwood. Oddly, he kept crying 'Ai!' and 'Alas!', which made Frodo so unnerved the hobbit burst into tears. Legolas kept crying out until Gandalf knocked him out too.

Gandalf also told of his talk with Barliman Butterburr. Apparently, Barliman had put a reward out for whoever found Strider. 'There's no need to keep him alive', it said, 'even if he is the Lost Ruler of Gondor.'

It was decided that the Ring was to be destroyed, after Glorfindel proposed that one of the hobbits should eat the Ring and wait to see what happened. His idea was, to the relief of Frodo, struck down. It was followed by a ridiculous idea of Aragorn's that he should give it to Arwen as an engagement ring. Sam burst out from behind Frodo's chair and proposed that he could bury it in Lobelia Sackville-Baggins's garden. Despite no one actually knowing who Lobelia Sackville-Baggins was, the idea was struck down. So, not knowing what else to do with it, they decided to throw the Ring into Mount Doom.

And then, Boromir, fingering his great Horn -no, not _that _Horn- said, "And thus the Council is finished. Aragorn, can I have some of that _miruvor_?"

* * *

**To be continued, as Bilbo demonstrates Sting, as Elrond is relieved, and as the Fellowship sets out from Rivendell!**


	7. A Rather Odd Sword

**Thank you for the feedback, faves, follows, and the time you (wasted?)(took?) reading this! As I'm typing this, we've got a nice round number of reviews: 20. You guys are amazing. :)**

**And thanks again to Catching Fireflies for Beta-ing!**

**There're some lines from the book in here. Needless to say, I don't own them.**

**Also, it'll be the anniversary of Boromir's death before my next chapter is posted. In memory, nod sadly and say, "Boromir, keep on blowing that Horn."**

**This chapter was going to be a parody of 'The Ring Goes South' from the book, but that chapter contains a lot of stuff, so I'm splitting it into two chapters.**

* * *

"It's most unfair," Pippin whined. "Instead of clapping you in chains, chaining you to a bed, getting out Aragorn's special fishing pole and whipping you so bad you won't be able to stand right for a week, Elrond rewards you for telling the Council to throw the Ring in Lobelia Sackville-Baggins's garden!"

Sam sulked. "But Elrond did do all that- if you don't mind me saying! Then he told me, 'Samwise Gamgee, I'm going to send you into Mordor, and Frodo can throw you into Mount Doom, too'!"

"What were you talking about in there?" Merry griped, deciding to ignore this. "Elrond came running down the halls of Rivendell, growling like a bear and snarling something about sexually suggestive Gondorians and Tom Bombadil."

Frodo burst into tears as soon as he heard the word 'sexually'. At 'Gondorians', he was sobbing. At 'Tom Bombadil' he was full-out bawling.

Bilbo sighed. "And we're sending him to Mordor?" he asked. "Thranduil, is that really a good idea?" He turned to Gandalf. The wizard's eyes widened.

"Thranduil?" Gandalf bellowed angrily.

"Oh, sorry, Thorin" was Bilbo's pleasant reply.

Gandalf knocked himself out with his own staff.

* * *

"I can't believe you let the S-Bs into Bag End," grumbled Bilbo.

"I'm sorry," said Frodo, hanging his head in shame. "But Lobelia was far too convincing, and she offered me a lot of-"

"Not the Sackville-Bagginses! The Sons-'a-Bitches!" Bilbo said exasperatedly. Frodo flinched at the swear word and burst into tears again.

* * *

After he had sufficiently recovered from the horrid events of the Council, and once he had sufficiently yelled at a hungover Aragorn, Elrond summoned the hobbits to him.

"Frodo," he said solemnly, "you are the Ringbearer. Your loyal servant Sam shall go with you." Sam wrinkled his nose and muttered something about 'staying loyal only if Mister Frodo stops crying'. "I shall choose your companions." Elrond shifted a bit nervously. Frodo had no idea why. "There shall be nine of you, so if you get captured by the Nazgul, they each get someone to molest."

Frodo nodded gravely, not listening at all. Then one word hit him. "Wait? Molest?" He burst into tears again. Samwise snarled in a rather unnerving way.

But Elrond was not done speaking. "Nine," he repeated. "Nine Walkers."

"Yes, we know. N-" Merry started.

"Nine, I tell you! Nine! Nine!" Elrond repeated, an insane look in his eyes. "And only nine!"

"Okay, okay! We get it!" Pippin said. "Nine Walkers! Not ten, not eleven, not any more than nine!" The hobbits were becoming rather afraid of Elrond and his apparently dysfunctional mind.

"All right, then," Elrond said. "Now that that's drilled into your heads. The Nine Walkers will represent all races: Men, Elves, Wizards, Hobbits, and Orcs. I mean, Dwarves. Like I said, I chose them all." And he proceeded to mutter, "If you don't count Boromir threatening to drown me in the Bruinen... and that incident with Thranduil..."

"Who's going, then?" asked Pippin, who hadn't heard Elrond. Frodo, who had, sniggered meanly at the Half-elf's expense.

"To represent Hobbits, Frodo and Sam, of course," Elrond said, ignoring Frodo's chuckles with a haughty look. "To represent Wizards, we will have Mithrandir, but he won't do you much good. We should've asked Saruman to come."

"Saruman's a traitor!" said Merry, shocked.

"That's exactly what I mean, Master Brandybuck," Lord Elrond said snidely. "Even a traitor would be of more use than Mithrandir. Anyhow. To represent Elves, you shall have Legolas son of Thranduil. He won't be of much use, either, but his father threatened to shoot one hundred arrows into me if I did not include him in this Fellowship. To represent Orcs- er, Dwarves, you shall have Gimli great-great-grandson of Groin. Representing Men, you shall have Aragorn son of Arathorn and Boromir son of A Bitch."

Aragorn staggered into the room. "You're stuck with me now," he said with a crazy grin. Frodo burst into tears.

"Aragorn and Boromir shall go with you until you get to Minas Tirith. Then, they shall dump your asses upon the ground, laugh, and leave you all to get eaten by orcs," Elrond said. Frodo wept even louder.

"Hey, wait!" Merry said. "There're two spots left! You only have seven walkers!"

"I was counting the Ring and Boromir's over-inflated ego as the other two," said Elrond.

"But- but egos can't walk! And nor can the Ring!" Pippin said.

"Fine, fine," said Elrond, with a sigh. "Go with the Fellowship." Out of the corner of his mouth, he hissed to Frodo, "You're to throw them in Mount Doom, too."

* * *

And so the Sword That Was Broken and Then Broken a Couple More Times by a Certain Young Boy Named Estel was reforged and given a new name: Anduril. Elven-runes were carved into it. Aragorn, who didn't bother looking at them, did not know that they read, "I lay my relatives". Seven stars were inscribed on the sword by Aragorn himself. When he tried drawing the White Tree and the Seven Stones, Boromir, who had been watching him do so, burst into laughter.

"What?" Aragorn growled. "What is it now?"

Between laughs, Boromir managed to gasp, "It looks like- like-" and he could say no more. Amusement had all-out consumed him, and threw back his head and howled with laughter. He collapsed to the ground and began rolling around.

"By Morgoth's rear end, Boromir! What the Valardamn Mordor-ing Fiery Depths of Mount Doom are you talking about?" Aragorn grumbled.

Boromir responded with something unintelligible. He was choking with laughter.

Elrond, who was walking out of the forge, turned back back and raised an eyebrow at Boromir, which made him laugh even harder. As a master of languages, Elrond was able to decipher Boromir's insane chortling into words. "He asks, Aragorn, why you drew a dick with seven balls on your sword." He walked off before his foster son could throw something at him.

Aragorn threw up his hands. "Valardammit, it's the White Tree and the Seven Stones!"

"No," Boromir gasped from the ground, "it's not. It's the White Dick and the Seven Balls! Is this, by any chance, describing a certain feature of Isildur's heir?" Boromir burst into laughter again.

Aragorn glared. "Go shove it up your ass, Boromir."

"I wouldn't dream of it. You, however, might dream of doing such a thing," Boromir shot back. He got up from the ground and stalked off with the proud look of one who has won a fight.

Aragorn stood there for a second, trying to figure that out. Then he realized. "Boromir thinks- I most certainly do _not_ dream about fucking him-"

A loud "Aargh!" came from the mighty forge of Imladris as Aragorn cursed Boromir and his suggestiveness.

* * *

Bilbo handed Frodo a small wooden box.

"What's this?" Frodo asked excitedly. "A going-away-to-Mordor-and-never-coming-back present?"

"It's your coffin!" Bilbo snapped. Frodo burst into tears. Bilbo laughed. "Ha-ha, I was kidding. It's a gift!"

Frodo opened up the box and found a small sword, fitting for a hobbit. "This is Sting," said Bilbo. He took it out of Frodo's hands. "See how easily it pierces through flesh!" And he unsheathed it and stabbed a random Elf that happened to be passing by.

The Elf screamed something about the Valar and collapsed to the ground, stone dead.

Bilbo looked down at the Elf incredulously. "No way," he breathed, staring down at the dead Elf. "I thought Elves were immortal!"

"They can fall in battle!" Frodo said, tears running down his face.

"Valardammit," Bilbo said. "I thought they simply couldn't be killed! Oh, well. I'll just hide him under my bed." And he took Sting out from the Elf's corpse and kicked the cadaver under his bed. He handed the blood-stained blade to his cousin with a cheerful smile.

Frodo dry-heaved and dropped Sting on the ground.

"And take this, too!" said Bilbo. Blood stained his wrinkled hands as he pulled a mess of clinking metal out from the box. "It's a nightshirt! Bard gave it to me."

"Why would he want to do that?" asked Frodo, puzzled. Then he remembered Bilbo's tendency to mix up names. "Oh, you mean Thorin. How nice of him, but that's a rather intimate present. It looks rather like a mail-shirt."

"It's a nightshirt, Valardammit!" Bilbo said insistently. "Wear it all the time! Especially at night!"

"But, Bilbo," Frodo said, "why would you want to wear a nightshirt all the time? Who does that, anyway?"

In response, Bilbo hitched up the skirt of his tunic, revealing a lacy, bright blue nightgown.

* * *

The Fellowship was about to set out from Rivendell, to the relief of the Elves. Lord Elrond was very grateful no one had killed him yet.

Aragorn had just had a hot make-out session with Arwen, for he knew he would not be sexually active until the Ring was destroyed. That was a very depressing thought to him. He carried Anduril. For a reason only known to himself, Elrond, and Boromir, he flushed bright red every time he looked at the inscriptions on it.

Boromir carried a shield, a longsword, and the Horn of Gondor. He was kind enough to lend Sam the shield, though, to put on his back. For Bill the Talking Horse was coming along with the Fellowship, and poor Samwise was carrying him. Again. Sam figured that Boromir's shield might offer his spine a bit of protection from possible breakage.

"Long and clear it sounds," Boromir said, talking about the Horn of Gondor, "and everyone shall flee!" With one hand, he grabbed his war-horn and blew a long, loud note. His other hand disappeared under his hose and grabbed- well, the _other_ Horn of Gondor.

Frodo burst into tears. Gimli chuckled. Legolas gave a haughty sniff. Merry and Pippin shrieked and hid behind Bill. Sam scoffed. Bill the Talking Horse whinnied disapprovingly. Gandalf sighed. Aragorn turned bright red.

And so the weeping, chortling, sniffing, screaming, scoffing, snorting, sighing, flushing, Horn-blowing Fellowship set out on their Quest.

* * *

**To be continued, as the Ring (finally) goes South, and as the Fellowshit- I mean, Fellowship, goes over Caradhras! **


End file.
